by William M. Razavi

BUNNY: Dear Mom and Dad,

First Christmas in the Lafollette house without you. Although we have all the same decorations up, including the one Great Aunt Ethel got from Mussolini, it’s just not the same without you here. I do hope you have warm clothes, especially for Daddy. I can only imagine how cold it is in those tents. We have out traditional dinner all ready. I’m cooking the turkey right now. You’d be quite pleased to see that we got it all right. I even got Bean to make the squash and yams. I do hope it all goes well. Bean is doing the carving. We have an electric carving knife–that should be interesting. I was going to ask Bradley to do the carving, but he’s doing the holidays in Long Island with his family. We have a full house, here though. My friend Chloe and her boyfriend James are coming and I’ve also got a date for Bean, though he doesn’t know it yet. We have to do something about him. He’s so surly I despair of his ever finding someone on his own. He’s always driving everyone off. He likes to pretend that it’s because he’s been drinking but actually I think he just enjoys his own company more than anyone else’s. Well, we’re going to fix his wagon tonight and have a pleasant dinner while we’re at it. We all wish you were here and miss you bunches, even Bean. We’ll save you some pie.

BEAN: What are you doing? Step aside. Go on, step aside.

BUNNY: You can send them a letter of your own, you know.

BEAN: I don’t like to lick stamps.

BUNNY: These are self-adhesive.

BEAN: Self-adhesive? Abomination, I say.

Dear Mother and Father,

Lies, all lies. I don’t know why you insisted on having another child after men, but really, the least you could have done was farm her out to some shepherd family in Bulgaria when you saw what she was like. Your daughter insists on making my life a living hell. I keep finding myself on unexpected dates with terminally stupid women. I won’t bother you with the litany of their forgettable names and countless forms of idiocy, but I will share one example. Last Thursday–and I mean really, why Thursday, couldn’t she be bothered to have a crappy date on a Friday or Saturday?–I find myself lured into dinner at this Ethiopian restaurant with this atrocious girl from Dallas. Dallas? Why does your daughter know people from Dallas? This was nearly as bad as that girl from New York–the one with the foot odor. Who are these people? Anyhow, minutes into the evening and I already wanted to claw my eyes out. My ears begged to be filled with hummus or its Ethiopian equivalent so I wouldn’t have to hear any more. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard. I hope I never live long enough to actually lay eyes on a "spirit stick" and if I do I intend to only live so long as to put that stick where it belongs. As if that wasn’t enough to drive me mad, she proceeded to tell me that she felt sad for all those Ethiopians because they were all going to hell because they don’t know Jesus. So I told her that actually Ethiopia has a very ancient Christian culture to which she replied, ever so politely, that she was quite sure I was wrong and that even if I was eight it probably wasn’t the right kind of Christianity which meant that they weren’t really Christian and didn’t I feel sad for them and I said yes, I feel incredibly sad, so sad that I had to go away and weep for a moment, so I made like I was going for the bathroom, paid the check, left a big tip and ran away. You sent your daughter to college to learn bright ideas like setting me up for that. I will have no more of it, and that’s why I intend to join you on your tour of Civil War battlefields. I’m sure tramping across Virginia with a musket will be infinitely more entertaining than anything else I can do right now. I will, of course, require a loan to purchase a uniform and some equipment. I presume I can borrow some black powder from father. Merry Christmas.

Your son, Bean

P.S. Please send some cookies.

There.

BUNNY: You’re impossible.

ALEXIS: Dear Diary,

Christmas dinner with the LaFollette’s. I’m looking forward to seeing their house. I think Bunny sets me up with someone. I hope he’s cute. Talk to you later tonight.

Alexis.

CHLOE: Dear James,

I know we haven’t had much time for each other in the past few weeks and I can’t help feeling that we’re growing apart. But I’m glad we can spend Christmas together at Bunny’s. I hope it will give us a chance to catch up and mend some fences. I suppose it’s stupid to call it mending fences if we’re not supposed to have fences, but I thought it sounded good at first. Oh, well, we can talk about my choice of phrases when we see each other. Love, as always, your Chloe.

EMERSON: Dear James,

You are an incredible asshole. I hate you and I hate our parents for going on vacation during Christmas leaving me with you–because you’re an asshole. I don’t what kind of naïve or assholish people would have to be to invite you over for Christmas, but either way I already don’t like them. Fuck them and fuck you. Pick me up at six.
Sincerely, Emerson

JAMES: Dear Jane,

I hope you didn’t misunderstand me when I said that I didn’t like commitments. It’s not that I don’t like commitments, I fear them. I would like nothing better than to be able to promise you something, but I can’t–not until I can figure out who I am and where I’m going. We can still see each other. I think you’re really great.

Love, Pookie-wooky.

BUNNY: Dinner’s almost ready.

BEAN: Great.

EMERSON: Great.

ALEXIS: So, what kind of drink is that?

BEAN: Southern Comfort and Cranberry. I call it a Cape Odd.

BUNNY: Bean has always enjoyed coming up with his own concoctions. Remember that one you made when we were kids with rabbit pellets and chocolate milk?

BEAN: The Ranger Rick. Yeah.

CHLOE: You had a pet rabbit?

BUNNY: Yes. I loved that rabbit.

BEAN: You didn’t love that rabbit. I loved that rabbit. You never cared about.

BUNNY: You’ve never gotten over the fact that it liked me better than you.

BEAN: It did not.

BUNNY: Did too.

CHLOE: What was the rabbit’s name?

BUNNY: I think it’s time for dinner.

BEAN: Dinner? We haven’t even finished our drinks yet.

BUNNY: We can set the table, at least.

ALEXIS: Don’t you feel so mature, doing Christmas without your parents around?

BUNNY: It’s different.

JAMES: Where are your parents?

BEAN: They took an early retirement.

EMERSON: Lucky them.

CHLOE: So they’re on vacation?

BEAN: You might say that. They’ve run off to become full time Civil War re-enactors.

JAMES: Civil War re-enactors.

ALEXIS: Why would they do that?

BEAN: Father has always enjoyed doing his impersonation of Lincoln’s Secretary of the Navy, Gideon Welles. Now he gets to do it all the time. Though why anyone would want to traipse around Civil War battlefields as Gideon Welles is beyond me.

CHLOE: I think it’s fascinating that they’d want to run off and do that.

BEAN: I’m sure you could join them.

ALEXIS: I think the Civil War is boring. Don’t you, James?

JAMES: I think it depends on your perspective.

ALEXIS: Really? I just don’t get it.

JAMES: Well, I think it’s one of those things that you might appreciate when you’re older.

CHLOE: I know exactly what you mean. I–

ALEXIS: I do too.

JAMES: I think I’ve matured significantly in the past few years.

EMERSON: You could have fooled me.

JAMES: When I think of who I was when I was seventeen or eighteen, I just laugh now.

ALEXIS: Really?

JAMES: Oh, yeah. I didn’t really understand the world then, not like I do now. If I could take my personality now and insert it into a seventeen year old–

BEAN: You’d have quite a party.

ALEXIS: That’s really fascinating.

EMERSON: Jesus.

BUNNY: So, Emerson, are you seeing anybody?

EMERSON: I’m seeing several idiots right now.

BUNNY: I meant are you dating anyone?

EMERSON: Are you kidding? Do you know the kind of drunk losers I meet on the weekends. They’d have to fuck me running.

BEAN: Oh, and they would.

CHLOE: So, what was the rabbit’s name?

ALEXIS: Rabbits are stupid.

BEAN: I’ll tell you what’s stupid–

BUNNY: Bean, why don’t you sit down?

BEAN: I don’t like chairs.

BUNNY: Don’t lie.

BEAN: I like chairs. My ass doesn’t like chairs. Big conflict.

BUNNY: Come on, Bean. Just sit down next to Alexis and–

BEAN: And whose lap am I supposed to sit on.

CHLOE: We could all scoot over one.

BEAN: Oh, sure. Then James here gets a fresh seat and I have to wallow in his butt sweat. No, I won’t do that.

BUNNY: Emerson? Maybe you can sit here.

EMERSON: Do you have a kiddie table? I don’t think I can handle the grownups.

ALEXIS: So, James, what do you do?

BUNNY: I should get dinner.

CHLOE: I’ll help.

BUNNY: What’s going on?

CHLOE: I don’t know.

BUNNY: Bean, give us a hand here.

BEAN: Oh, alright.

BEAN: You’re making me miss a perfectly good conversation about William Faulkner.

CHLOE: Really?

BEAN: Of course not.

CHLOE: This is awful.

BUNNY: This never would have happened if you’d been paying attention to Alexis. I invited her here for you.

BEAN: You brought that harpy here for me? How could you?

BUNNY: She’s not a harpy. You don’t even know her.

EMERSON: She’s a harpy.

BEAN: See.

EMERSON: I don’t like her at all.

BUNNY: I think this is all a big misunderstanding.

BEAN: I think we understand pretty well. Chloe, your boyfriend is a dick.

BUNNY: Bean.

CHLOE: I’m sorry Emerson.

EMERSON: It’s true. He’s a dick.

CHLOE: What do we do?

BEAN: Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.

BEAN: So, you kids like Faulkner?

ALEXIS: What?

BEAN: Faulkner. You may have heard of him. He was a contemporary of the great Tito Puente.

JAMES: Listen, Buddy we were–

BEAN: Would you like a drink?

ALEXIS: I’d love a drink.

BEAN: I’ll make you a Lucrezia Borghia, though that is a bit redundant.

ALEXIS: What’s a Lucrezia…

BEAN: Bor–zha?

ALEXIS: Yes.

BEAN: Gin and arsenic.

ALEXIS: Ooh, that sounds exotic.

BEAN: Oh, it is.

JAMES: You’re kidding, right?

BEAN: Yeah, I’m kidding. We don’t have any gin.

ALEXIS: I’ll just have what you’re having.

BEAN: Okay, here you go.

ALEXIS: Thanks.

Bean walks away.

BEAN: It’s like trying to bring down a moose with a spitwad. It all just bounces off.

EMERSON: Let me handle this.

EMERSON: Hello, brother.

JAMES: Hello, Emerson.

EMERSON: You know, I was just thinking–

JAMES: That outfit makes your thighs look huge.

EMERSON: Does not.

JAMES: They’re monstrous. You should really do something about them.

EMERSON: What do my thighs look like?

BEAN: Like a good weekend.

EMERSON: Those two are impossible.

BEAN: He’s a dick.

CHLOE: I think I’m coming around to that notion.

BUNNY: Well, what do we do now?

CHLOE: This is my worst Christmas ever.

BUNNY: Oh, Chloe. It’ll be alright.

CHLOE: How? How will it be alright? It’s my fault. I hadn’t been paying attention–finals going on and all that.

EMERSON: Chloe, shut up.

BUNNY: Emerson!

EMERSON: My brother was always a dick.

CHLOE: But I loved him.

BEAN: Everyone makes mistakes.

CHLOE: Two years–wasted.

BEAN: Some people make consistent mistakes.

BUNNY: I shouldn’t have invited Alexis.

EMERSON: No, you shouldn’t have.

BUNNY: This is all my fault.

BEAN: Yes, it is.

BUNNY: You’re no help.

BEAN: No, I’m not.

CHLOE: I just want to curl up and die.

BEAN: No, you don’t.

EMERSON: You want them to curl up and die.

CHLOE: Yes.

BUNNY: We’ll have dinner. Then we can all talk.

BEAN: Let me handle this.

CHLOE: What’s that?

BEAN: This is my boomstick.

BUNNY: Don’t do anything rash.

EMERSON: Jail isn’t worth it. See if you can get her then we can pin it on him.

BEAN: I’m just going to carve the turkey. We’ll see where it goes from there. Alright, where’s the beast?

BUNNY: Here it is.

EMERSON: It’s black.

BUNNY: I think I left it in too long.

CHLOE: It’s hard as a rock.

BUNNY: Um…

BEAN: This is going to be a hell of a dinner.

EMERSON: Well, here we go.

BUNNY: It’s dinner time!

JAMES: Great. I’m starving.

BUNNY: Why don’t you get some sides while Bean carves.

ALEXIS: Aren’t we going to say grace.

BEAN & EMERSON: Grace.

BEAN: I’ve never used an electric carver before, so bear with me.

BEAN: Anybody for pizza?

EMERSON: I’m starving.

BUNNY: I think Tony’s House of Pizza delivers.

CHLOE: On Christmas?

BEAN: We’ll give the driver a huge tip.

EMERSON: Here’s a wallet. Be generous.

BUNNY: Merry Christmas everybody.

EVERYBODY: Merry Christmas.

EMERSON: So, Bean, what are you doing later?

BEAN: I’m going to Virginia to re-enact the Civil War.

EMERSON: Oh.

CHLOE: Why?

BEAN: Because I hate people.

EMERSON: Civil War re-enacting is an odd choice for a misanthrope.

BEAN: I like the Civil War.

EMERSON: You sure you don’t want to stick around for a date?

BEAN: Well, I’ve always liked being the rebound guy. So, what are you doing for New Year’s Eve, Chloe?

CHLOE: Me? Uhh–

BUNNY: You’re impossible.

BEAN: I guess I’ll be in Virginia after all.

EMERSON: If you didn’t suck you’d have a date.

BEAN: If you didn’t suck you’d re-enact the Battle of Fredericksburg with me.

EMERSON: Maybe I will.

BEAN: Maybe we’ll drive down together.

EMERSON: Maybe we will.

BEAN: Good.

BUNNY: Another relationship created out of spite. I guess we got you set up after all. Don’t worry, Chloe. We’ll find someone nice for you.

BEAN: And if not, we know how to get rid of him now.

CHLOE: So, what was the name of your rabbit?

BEAN: Rabbit.

CHLOE: Rabbit?

BUNNY: Rabbit was its name.

EMERSON: Not very imaginative.

BEAN: Product of a compromise–should teach you something about compromise.

BUNNY: It still liked me better.

CHLOE: Rabbit.

BUNNY: I wanted to call it William Howard Taft.

BEAN: And I wanted to call it Floofles.

CHLOE: I think it was a good compromise.

BEAN: Yep.